Reunion
by Perks of Being a Mockingjay
Summary: "The wrinkles in the chair cushions suggest you've not moved from there for... four, perhaps five days. Your stubble further implies this. What's more, the depth of the imprint of your chin on your hand suggests that you've been sat in that same position for approximately three hours and twenty minutes."


**Authors note: this is my first Sherlock fanfic ever, and I tend to just write meaningless fluff when I write for a new/different fandom, to get used to writing as/about the characters, before I start writing stories with an actual plot. I don't know if this qualifies as actual Johnlock, I think it might just imply that Johnlock is canon. You have no idea how much I hope that Johnlock becomes canon. I mean it is, at absolute least, a bromance. We can agree on that, right? This is set immediately after The Reichenbach Fall (series 2, episode 3).**

**Disclaimer: I don't, nor do I claim to own Sherlock or anything surrounding it. **

**Reunion**

The gentle pattering of rain upon moss covered granite was the only sound left in the derelict graveyard, besides the rustling of grass and leaves as they swayed in the icy breeze. Soggy grass squelched underfoot as Sherlock leaned forward, checking for any unwelcome onlookers, then he strolled from beneath the reassuring cover of the tree which he was hiding beneath. Although he'd heard clearly every word which John had said just a few seconds previously, they replayed in his head in an endless loop until they sounded fuzzy and indecipherable, like a radio without a signal.

Exhaling the large gulp of air that he'd taken approximately two minutes previously, Sherlock strolled from the cemetery and hopped into the first cab which happened to pass by. Thankfully, the driver didn't turn around and realize that his passenger was a supposedly dead, disgraced detective, but instead just mumbled, "Where're you off to, mate?", looking straight ahead to the endless grey of the road. In a wordless reply, he handed the driver a map of London, with a single red cross marked on a special location: 221b, Baker Street.

Traffic lights seemed to change slower than usual, pedestrians seemed to cross the road with less urgency. To Sherlock, no journey had ever felt longer.

By the time he arrived, the sun was sunk halfway between the sky and silhouettes of everything on the ground, sending a rusty-orange glow across all of London. The lights inside his flat were on, but slightly flickering, as if whoever lit them no longer cared that he or she would soon be submerged in darkness. Also, despite Mrs Hudson's borderline obsessive cleanliness, the walls were enveloped in a layer of grey dust that often develops in the smoke of cities.

With trembling fingers, he twisted the key in the lock until he heard a click, and allowed the door to swing open.

"Who's there?" he heard a familiar voice call, but the honesty of his reply led to unexpected problems. He heard a thud and crash from the living room, and the first thing he saw as he peeked through the door was the unconscious form of Mrs Hudson, a smashed mug beside her, the handle still in her grasp.

Quietly, Sherlock mopped up the tea with a wad of kitchen towel and picked up the shards of broken china, chucking them in the bin. Gently, he lifted the elderly woman to the sofa and left her there to recover. After that, he walked up the stairs to find the person who he'd most hoped to see.

It seemed John was not aware of Holmes' arrival, but the ringing of his voice through the air alerted him to Sherlock's presence.

"The wrinkles in the chair cushions suggest you've not moved from there for... four, perhaps five days. Your stubble further implies this. What's more, the depth of the imprint of your chin on your hand suggests that you've been sat in that same position for approximately three hours and twenty minutes... Judging by the untidiness off the flat, Mrs Hudson hasn't visited in a while, perhaps due to her not wanting to, perhaps because you've asked her not to. Either way, you certainly look glum."

"Sherlock?"


End file.
